


Oswald the Godless

by redreaper86



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vikings, Chubby Oswald Cobblepot, Cultural Differences, M/M, Mentions of Slavery, Minor Character Death, Rated For Violence, References to Norse Religion & Lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:41:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23265607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redreaper86/pseuds/redreaper86
Summary: Just when Prince Edward feels resigned to his fate of constant degradation by his cruel father, a certain notorious bird-like conqueror kidnaps him away to his barbarian kingdom.Or...The nygmobblepot viking au that no one asked for.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 41
Kudos: 61





	1. The Capture

Edward was in hell. He was certain of it. What other explanation than eternal damnation could account for the scarlet sky smothered with charcoal clouds, the great billowing orange inferno on the horizon devouring everything and everyone in its path, the fur-covered fiends with horns on their heads pouring through the shattered gates of the city, waving bloodied long-swords, howling like the damned, killing everyone they came across?

Or perhaps hell had belched forth its denizens here on earth. After all, this was his home those aforementioned brutes were conquering, his father's kingdom which Edward would have inherited if not for this. He wondered what his fate would be when they finally found him here in the highest tower of the palace, hiding amongst these ancient tomes and scrolls, far more precious in value than any of the jewellery, goblets, weapons and countless other treasures the invaders were looting from the rest of the palace below him.

It was only a matter of time before they found him and then he would either be killed or made a slave. He was not sure which was worse -- he was not even sure he cared one way or the other. The responsibilities of wearing a crown had always seemed colossal to him. It was stressful enough being the _Aethling_ , the heir apparent, but to be constantly harangued, beaten and humiliated by his father his entire life made him already feel as though he were dead or a slave. A living corpse, his destiny to be forever tied to this graveyard of a kingdom. What was one more murderer? One more master?

Whatever happened, Edward knew, right now was the only time he'd truly be alive and free to make his own choices.

Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs, getting louder and louder. Edward turned his back on the window then, and faced the door, waiting for the Danes to break through it.

He didn't have to wait long. Loud, crunchy cracks sounded as axe blades all but shredded the door in a matter of seconds; thick fur-covered arms knocked the broken pieces of wood away before the owner of them stepped inside.

Or rather, waddled inside. The Dane had a very distinctive penguin-like gait -- whether from an old injury or the man's impressive girth or both combined, Edward knew not. The Dane's sturdy form was swathed in furs and around his chest was a wide leather baldric, which strapped to his back. Jet black hair feathered his pale, clear-skinned, clean-shaven face. He had large jade-coloured eyes outlined in kohl, an aquiline nose, lissom lips and a sharp chin.

"It is the _Aethling_!" This man now bellowed to his compatriots, who were jostling each other through the doorway behind him, rapidly filling the small room. Edward wrinkled his nose at the smell of fresh blood they brought with them. "Where is this whelp's father, the Saxon king?" The first Dane continued.

"That coward has fled the kingdom of Star, Lord Oswald," a completely bald barbarian replied. "He has taken refuge in Gotham, the only realm not under Dane command."

" _Yet_ ," the first Dane corrected. "As for this one..." He tipped his head back to appraise Edward from head to toe and back again. Edward felt himself being weighed in the barbarian's estimation and wanted desperately to surpass the man's low expectations of him.

"Shall I kill him, lord?" The bald man asked helpfully. Edward's heart beat so hard that it hurt. It was all he could do to keep from clutching at his chest but he controlled himself. He would not, would _never_ , show weakness in front of these uncivilized Pagans.

"Not yet, Victor," Oswald said, putting up a hand. Each grimy digit was decorated with a ring worth a king's ransom. "I have use for him alive." He jerked his chin at the bald man.

Edward's blood chilled as Victor seized him by the arms, yanking them behind his back and trussing them up with rope. He barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes as the brute stuffed a rag in his mouth; he hadn't said one word in their presence, he hadn't even screamed when they'd burst through the door, though no civilized person could've blamed him if he _had_ \--

Though he couldn't hold back a muffled squawk of outrage as the bald man hoisted him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

The journey to the Danes' stronghold passed by in a blur. Now, after nearly a week of traveling, the cavalcade finally reached the gates of a gothic fortress so thickly smothered in ice that the stones from which the edifice had originally been built were rendered invisible.

"What is this place?" Edward murmured, tipping his head back, the better to gaze at the marvellously strange sculptures the bleak weather had wrought on the citadel's coating of ice.

"Iceburg Hall," his new master said proudly. Oswald sat behind the former prince on the horse they shared, his arms wrapped unavoidably around Edward's waist in order to hold the reins. "It is aptly named, no?"

"It is fascinating..." Edward whispered as they passed under the arch.

Whoops and cheers rose up to greet them as they entered the courtyard -- or what passed for a courtyard in this barbarian castle. Joyous faces lit up by firelight from the torches gathered about the incoming horses. Edward almost let his heart rise with hope before he remembered that these people were his kidnappers. Robbers, vandals and murderers, the lot of them. And most of all, they were barbarians who barely could pronounce their own names, let alone write them. He'd do best not to get attached to any of them. He straightened his back as he made this resolution, an action which the Dane mistook for a flinch.

"There is no need to be frightened," Oswald told him gently as the horse cantered across the drawbridge. "This is your home now. You are no longer a Saxon, you are a Dane."

This time Edward flinched for real.

The combined sounds of violence and merriment were growing near deafening as they entered the citadel. The majority of Oswald's men joined the revellers but as soon as the Viking warrior and his 'guest' had dismounted, he took Edward by the wrist, tugged him up through the rollicking crowd to a doorway leading to a corridor.

Once more, Edward's curiosity got the better of him and he glanced about at the decorative hangings on the walls: weapons, pelts and tapestries that depicted the strange Pagan gods these savages believed in. One of the tapestries showed a sly-looking fellow with red hair standing on a table at a feast. The people at the table looked none too pleased with him.

"You like this one?" Oswald asked, amusement in his voice as he stopped so that Edward could get a closer look. "That is the Flyting of Loki."

Edward was quiet. He wanted desperately to know what flyting meant but was too embarrassed to ask. Oddly, the Dane seemed to have read his mind.

"Flyting is an ancient Viking pastime," Oswald explained. "The art of insulting each other through kennings and riddles." (--here Edward glanced at his guide then looked away just as quickly --) "In this legend, Loki crashed a feast he wasn't invited to and proceeded to make fun of everyone in attendance."

An image presented itself to Edward of himself standing on the table in his father's great hall, mocking the wretched man via his favourite verbal conundrums.

"You should smile like that more often," Oswald said and Edward blushed to realize his pleasure at that evil daydream had shown itself on his face. "You're radiant when you smile. Like one of those paintings we steal from the churches."

Edward didn't know what to say to that so he just lowered his eyes and blushed some more. The Dane tilted his head, continuing his scrutiny of, and his commentary on, his rapidly reddening Saxon prize.

"A bath would be an improvement, though," Oswald went on, glancing at the soot smears on Edward's clothes -- vast hypocrisy in the latter's opinion since the barbarian was virtually coated in ashes, dried blood, brain matter and, of all things, bird shit. "And a meal -- you Christians are always so emaciated from all that fasting. If any of my gods demanded such a ridiculous sacrifice I would drop them at once. I like food too much." He slapped his admittedly well-fed belly.

"I'm glad you're a Pagan, then." Edward blurted out before he could stop himself.

Oswald blinked at him, then roared with laughter. Edward recoiled at the sound, steeling himself to be at best slapped, at worst skewered.

"I was planning on ransoming you back to your father for your weight in gold," the Dane said when he could breathe again. "But I like you and you don't weigh much. So I think I'll keep you."

"Thank you, lord," Edward could have cried with relief. He also could've kissed Oswald in gratitude (and other less pure motivations) but thought he'd done enough to embarrass himself in front of his captor.

For today, at least.


	2. One of Us

"Close your mouth, puddin', or the suds will go in!"

"Too late! What did we just tell you?"

"You don't listen well at all! You'll make a terrible slave."

Lusty bursts of feminine laughter resounded about Edward's ears as three different pairs of slender hands either held him down in the bathtub, scrubbed him vigorously or prodded him teasingly in the ribs.

Edward bit his lip, nearly in tears. Right before Oswald had abandoned him to these three maidens' not-so-tender mercies, he'd introduced them as his sisters: 'Ivy the Irritating,' 'Ecco the Obnoxious,' and 'Selina the Sadistic.' The girls had all laughed merrily at their own expense, then again at Edward's as Oswald introduced him as 'Edward the Spineless.' He'd been wrong before -- _this_ right _here_ was surely hell: being bathed, mocked and tormented by these three -- he didn't even want to say the word for what these women were. ( _Succubae._ )

Edward finally gathered the courage to ask them where their brother had gone. (The nerve of Oswald to dub him 'the Spineless!')

"Our _brother_? Oh, you mean Oswald," Ivy said, tossing her long red locks out of her eyes as she hefted a jar of water onto her hip. "He's gone to greet his mother, Gertrud the Good. He's not really our brother. None of us are actually related by blood. Oswald found me lost in the forest years ago when I was a small child and he just a youth."

"He plucked me from the streets of Metropolis after his Danes took the kingdom," Selina muttered listlessly. "As they do." She scrubbed Edward's shoulders with renewed vigour and it was all he could do not to yelp with pain. He'd had floggings that had hurt less than this.

Ecco, kneeling behind Edward, shampooing his hair, offered chirpily: "He took me in after my parents left me to convert to Christianity." She scoffed. "Can you _believe_ it? Who would want to do _that_! Right, you can rinse him, Red."

Without warning, Ivy dumped the jar of water over Edward's head, sluicing out all the suds and flattening his hair against his scalp. He gasped and spluttered in shock, sending all the girls into hysterics again.

They dried then dressed him, teasing him still, but also telling him anecdotes of their brother-in-name-only and Edward's new master: Oswald the Godless.

"What did he do to earn such a dreadful title?" Edward queried.

"He cut down a priest who'd insulted him," Ivy said, shrugging as she fastened the buttons of his doublet, "then trampled the wretch under the hooves of his horse for good measure."

Edward felt cold. "What did the priest say to him?"

The girls glanced at each other, seeming nervous for the first time.

"Nothing that wasn't true," Selina finally said, dipping a small brush into a jar of kohl, "but they were the wrong things to say to Oswald. Now, don't blink..."

When they were finished with him, they showed him his reflection in the floor-length mirror of polished brass and Edward didn't recognize himself. His long dark hair was pulled back from his face with small braids, his large brown eyes were outlined heavily in kohl.

"I look like a Dane," he murmurmured in wonder at the transformation. Ivy rested her chin on his shoulder.

"You are one of us now," she said. Then, perking up: "Come let us show him to Oswald!"

And snatching up his hand, she pulled him out of the room and into the hallway with the tapestries that he'd passed earlier, Ecco and Selina dashing ahead of them.

When they reached the great hall, the noise was almost palpable. The Danes were cheering and shaking their fists at something. The sound of clashing blades indicated they were egging on a fight.

Ecco and Selina barrelled into the crowd, making a path for Ivy and Edward. At the epicenter of the mêlée was Oswald himself in a swordfight with a much taller Dane with fiery red hair.

Ivy pulled Edward to the side just as the red-haired Dane's sword went spinning past them to imbed itself in the opposite wall.

"Watch it, you beaky-nosed freak!" A female voice from the back rang out.

Edward braced himself in apprehension for another fight but Oswald didn't bat an eye from the red-headed Dane, whose hands were raised in surrender as the smaller warrior pointed his sword at his throat.

"Give me one good reason, Jerome, why I shouldn't send you straight to Corpse Hall?" Oswald demanded.

The red-head gave a surly shrug as much as one can shrug with the tip of a blade against one's throat. "You said we would hold that Saxon scum for ransom," he growled, jerking his chin at Edward. "Not take him in as one of us." Oswald followed his gaze and his eyes widened as he took in the former prince's transformation.

"I changed my mind," Oswald said, not taking his eyes off Edward.

"A pretty way to say you _lied_ ," another red-headed Dane said. He looked just like Jerome, save his hair was ruby-red instead of flaming.

"Shut up, Jeremiah," Oswald snapped. "Neither you nor your brother have any foresight. The Saxon king obviously doesn't want his son back. If he did, he'd have taken the _Aethling_ with him on his coward's flight to Gotham."

"So the brat is useless then," Jeremiah said, smug. "Save for sport."

Edward's blood turned to ice.

"Too right, brother!" Jerome roared, much, _much_ too cheerily for a man whose throat was a hair's breadth away from being cut. "Let us have him, Pengy."

"No," Oswald said, stowing his sword. "I have a much better idea. Edward, come here."

Edward's limbs were leaden with fear but that was no matter. Several helpful hands (and even an encouraging boot or two) propelled him to the front of the crowd and face to face with his small birdlike master, who flung a friendly arm around his shoulders.

"We are going to take Gotham in a fortnight," Oswald said in ringing tones as he addressed his Danes. "The last kingdom not yet under Dane rule. It has proved impenetrable to us...so far. But now we have an advantage -- a Saxon prince who knows Saxon cities, the way they are built, their strengths and weaknesses. Isn't that right, Edward?"

Finding himself speechless, all Edward could do was nod -- a trifle too vigorously. 

"Of course if he _dosen't_ help us..." Oswald trailed off, letting the meaning of what he left unsaid sink in, " I'm sure we'll find other uses for him."

The red-headed twins grinned in unison.

Edward made up his mind then and there to concentrate his vast intelligence on helping the Danes take Gotham.

Maybe if he was on his best behavior Oswald would let Edward be the one to give his craven father a blood-eagle.


	3. Fated

Edward did not remember falling asleep. He did not remember going to bed. He didn't even remember how he left the dining hall. Everything was blank after he'd made the decision to help the Danes take Gotham -- the exhaustion from the events of the evening and the past week had hit him all at once and he'd hardly even been able to keep his eyes open.

But he certainly would remember waking up the next morning. He would remember that for the rest of his life. It was the first morning he awoke to a kiss on the forehead rather than a kick to the ribs.

"Good morrow, sleepy-head," Oswald grinned above him, looking utterly delectable with his messed-up hair and bright, long-lashed eyes. "I have something I want to show you." With that, he pulled Edward up from the pile of furs he'd been sleeping on and led down through the corridors, out to the frosty courtyard.

Danes were everywhere, either working or play-fighting (the red-headed brothers were doing the latter, Edward observed). Oswald tugged him toward the smithy where Victor the Hairless was forging a new long-sword. When the bald man saw Oswald approaching, he ceased his work and bowed to him.

"I am nearly finished the sword you ordered, lord," Victor said, stepping back as Oswald drew nearer, pulling Edward with him, "I put in all the details you asked for."

The sword, still smoking from the fire of the forge, was a beautiful weapon. It was much better made than any Saxon sword, even Edward could see that and he was no warrior. Around the hilt was wrapped a metal snake biting its own tail and a huge emerald was welded into the top.

Edward recognized the jewel. It had belonged to his mother who'd given it to him on her deathbed when he was nine. He'd worn it around his neck ever since, but he supposed one of Oswald's 'sisters' had taken it when they had bathed him yesterday.

He tried to tamp down his anger and frustration at seeing it used to decorate yet another weapon for a Pagan Dane. He reminded himself sternly that he was a slave now, that he couldn't own anything anymore because he himself was owned by this Pagan Dane, Oswald the Godless.

But it was nothing doing. He couldn't stop his heart from panging as the reality of his situation and future dawned on him in its entirety for the first time. To his horror, he felt a hot tear slip out of the corner of his eye and he hurriedly swiped it away -- none too quickly either, for Oswald had turned to him, asking him what he thought of the sword.

"It...it's beautiful, lord," Edward managed.

"I'm glad you approve," Oswald said, holding him steadily with that green gaze of his, "because it's yours."

Edward blinked. This was obviously Oswald's idea of a joke which Edward, being his slave, had no choice but to play along with. "Mine, lord?" he asked because he was supposed to.

"Yes," Oswald said, clearly serious. "If we are to take Gotham, I'll need every one of my warriors armed with a good sword."

"This weakling, a warrior?" Victor snorted with laughter. "In the gentle words of the goddess Freya: _come again_?" He sobered at once when Oswald pinned him with an icy glare.

"That's right, Victor," Oswald said, his tones deceptively friendly, "and I'll rely on you, the greatest warrior in my army, to train him."

Victor gulped, either at the mammoth task of turning this sickly string-bean into a warrior or in fear of Oswald's wrath should he fail. Edward didn't blame the bald man for either worry.

"Good," Oswald said, dismissing Victor with a nod, "glad that's settled, then. Come, Edward," he jerked his head as he walked away.

Edward hurried to catch up with Oswald. "I don't understand, lord --"

"First of all," Oswald spun around on his heel, causing Edward to stumble right into his arms, "call me Oswald. Not lord. I just gave you a gift, didn’t I?"

Edward, feeling his face heat up, his chest tighten and his knees go weak because Oswald was gripping him around the waist in a way that was anything but platonic, managed to squeak out a "yes."

"So that makes us friends, does it not?" Oswald bent his head to look at Edward's face.

"If you say so, lor -- I mean, Oswald."

"I do say so, Edward." Oswald smirked. "Now are you going to stand up on your own or hang off of me all day?"

Though he would have much preferred the latter arrangement, Edward opted for the former, blushing furiously as he did.

Training with Victor was every bit as harrowing as Edward expected it to be and more but he took comfort in the fact that the experience was just as hard on Victor as it was on him.

"Well, Saxon," Victor huffed after knocking Edward on his ass for what was probably the millionth time in two weeks, "I've taught you all I can in such short notice. At least if you die in battle tomorrow, you'll go to Valhalla."

Edward took Victor's proffered hand and the bald man yanked him up from the ground. "What's Valhalla?"

"Paradise, of course," Victor's dark eyes sparkled with childlike joy. "Fighting, feasting and fucking for all eternity. Doesn't that sound great?"

Edward felt slightly queasy. "Fabulous."

Victor gave Edward a one last comradely smack on the shoulder before he swaggered off with the Valeska brothers to the nearest mead-hall.

As soon as he was alone (or thought he was) Edward doubled over and threw up.

"I could die tomorrow," he said out loud to himself, leaning on his knees.

"So could I," said a voice from behind him. Startled, Edward whirled around to face Oswald. "Personally," the Dane said as he stepped closer, "I think fate has other plans for us, Edward. Don't you?"

Edward opened his mouth to answer but his head swam and the ground thrust up under his heels and he found himself inexplicably scooped up in Oswald's arms.

"We have _got_ to stop meeting this way," Oswald sighed as he carried Edward across the courtyard under the twilit sky.

Edward laughed softly as he wound his arms around Oswald's shoulders. "It's fate," he said.


	4. The Attack

The sky was the colour of iron. There was no wind, but the air was like ice. On the morning of the battle, the world seemed to hold its breath, as the army of Danes lined up on the hill.

Edward watched as Oswald's kohl-lined green eyes narrowed at the kingdom of Gotham, a veritable fortress with sheer walls of black stone. Up on the battlements, the Saxon gaurds already had their crossbows at the ready, with the tips of their arrows soaked in pitch, ready to be lit ablaze.

Following Oswald's gaze, Edward looked to their motley army of barbarian Pagans. There were Oswald's 'sisters:' Ivy, Ecco and Selina, plus Barbara the Barbarous and Tabitha the Terrible, older shield-maidens but three times as fierce. The Valeska brothers had each painted a smear of blood across their faces, Jerome's painted lips facing upward, Jeremiah's facing down. Comedy and tragedy, side by side.

And Victor the Hairless was practically gnashing his teeth with battle-thirst. "Orders, lord?"

There was silence for a beat. The Oswald drew his longsword. Edward's heart caught in his throat, whether it was from the anticipation of battle or arousal at the sight of his fearless bird so utterly in his element, Edward knew not. (Though he suspected it was a combination of both.)

" _Glory or Valhalla_!" Oswald roared finally, and his army of warriors answered with their own wordless howl.

Edward shivered as he watched dozens and dozens of Saxon archers light their arrows and take aim.

"Shield wall!" Oswald yelled, and rhythmic thunks clattered all around them as each Dane locked their sheild against their comrades' so that the entire Viking was protected.

Edward gasped and smiled a little. This was ingenious! Why hadn't the Saxons ever thought of this? Probably because the Vikings had thought of it first and the judgemental Christian Saxons refused to ape the Pagan Danes, even if that meant sacrificing innocent lives.

 _Actually_ , Edward thought, _the Saxon king, my father, is the judgemental one. The others, while stupid and pig-headed (James of Gordon, to name one) could still be taught better_.

Huddled amongst the Vikings under the wooden shield-wall, shoulder to shoulder with the people he'd considered monsters just a fortnight ago, Edward resolved to do whatever it took to help them take the last kingdom of Gotham. Even if that meant sacrificing his own life.

"Oswald," he said in a low voice to the Dane as they steadily marched under their roof of Viking shields toward the gates of Gotham, "I know of another way into the fortress. Let me go, I'll sneak in the back way that the servants use and open the front gates for you."

Though Edward had spoke in low tones, every Viking under the wooden, makeshift dome heard these words and hissed with fury.

"Traitor!"

"Craven!"

"He means to trick us!"

"You should have let us have our sport with this one, Lord Oswald."

"Be silent!" Oswald snapped, shutting them all up. "Edward, do you swear to me that you are telling the truth?"

"I swear, Oswald," Edward said fervently. "I would do anything for you."

There was a series of wooden thuds like overly weighty raindrops falling atop the shield-roof above them. Ominous crackling could be heard, accompanied by the acrid smell of smoke. Several flaming arrows stuck into the grass outside the Danes' shield-wall. The barbarians murmured in fear and the once solid shield-wall began to weaken.

"Hold fast!" Oswald yelled. "Strengthen the wall!"

More arrows thundered down as the Danes hastened to close the gaps with their shields.

"Go on, then, Edward," Oswald told him. "I trust you. But, by the gods, if you break that trust...

"There will not be a hole dark enough for you to hide from my vengeance, in this life or the next."

Edward nodded once and, taking Victor the Hairless and Selina the Sadistic with him, the three hugged the wall of the fortress, Edward leading the way.


	5. The Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for minor character deaths and a beheading.

When Edward, Victor and Selina reached the servants door, they discovered it was locked from the inside.

"What's your plan now, Saxon?" Victor hissed. "How long do we have to wait until one of the servants opens the door?"

"Selina, may I have your hairpin?" Edward asked her. Selina drew the long bone chopstick out of her messy golden brown curls and presented it to Edward. He took it and worked it into the lock. Something clicked and the door pushed open. Edward slipped inside, Victor and Selina right on his heels.

"Perhaps you aren't as useless as I thought, Saxon," Victor hissed.

The servants quarters were full of shivering children, women and priests.

Edward glanced at his companions. An alopecic assassin and a teenaged shield-maiden were going to stick out like sore thumbs.

"We're going to need some disguises," Edward said.

Moments later, three 'priests' entered the kingdom of Gotham, which was bustling with Saxon soldiers bringing buckets of steaming, bubbling pitch.

Edward broke into a run. "We have to hurry," he hissed to Victor and Selina, who were running beside him. "They're going to pour scalding tar on the Danes!"

In no time flat the three 'priests' had darted around the Saxon soldiers, right up to the gate and all of them seized the heavy wooden beam holding the gates closed and pushed up --

("Stop those traitors," a hated voice Edward recognized as his father's, bellowed.)

\-- until the beam was out of the latch. As one, Edward, Victor and Selina leapt back as the gates crashed open and the Danes poured in, lead by Oswald. They clashed with the Saxons and the air was filled with the battle-song of clanging swords, slicing meat, yells of rage, screams of pain.

All around Edward, blades were pin-wheeling as the two sides fought with each other and he pulled out his own sword and immediately clashed with the nearest Saxon -- a huge man Edward hated, Tom Dougherty. Before Victor trained him, Edward would've been cut down instantaneously by Dougherty. But now? Edward was easily parrying every one of Dougherty's vicious hacks, letting his enemy tire himself out just as Victor had taught him. _The bald Dane may be a bloodthirsty childish savage_ , Edward thought with a grin, _but his sword-fighting tips are nothing short of scientific brilliance_.

"Argh!" Dougherty yelled in pain as Edward sliced him in the arm. "Go to hell, craven!"

"You first," Edward quipped and, thrusting past Dougherty's clumsy defense, he shoved his sword right through Dougherty's gut. The wretch's eyes bulged in surprise as blood spurted from his mouth. Edward put his foot on Dougherty's chest for leverage and yanked his sword out of the dying man's torso before skipping over Dougherty's corpse on to his next Saxon opponent, Lucius Fox. Edward felt a pang of guilt because he liked Lucius, but he would not hesitate to dispatch him too, if it came to that.

Catching a glimpse of Oswald in his peripheral vision, Edward saw that the Dane was fighting against Edward's father, the Saxon king. Edward could see that his father was tiring out under Oswald's relentless attack. Edward turned his full attention back to Lucius, who was also beginning to waver.

"Yeild," Edward said to him. Breathing heavily to answer, Lucius shook his head 'no.'

"You have to," Edward snapped, parrying another clumsy attack from Lucius. "I don't want to kill you, Foxy!"

Hearing Edward's old nickname for him, Lucius hesitated. Edward too, froze. A blood-curdling yell of pain caused both of them to whip their heads around towards the source of the sound --

And there was the fiery red-headed twin -- Jerome, Edward remembered -- with James Gordon's sword lanced through his torso. James pulled his sword out of Jerome and ran off to fight more Danes, kicking Jerome's sword out of the way as he did.

"My sword!" Jerome cried, reaching desperately towards it. "I must die with my sword!"

Then Edward saw Oswald actually stop fighting the Saxon king and hurry over to retrieve Jerome's fallen sword. Edward's blood ran cold as he saw his father straighten back up and watch Oswald's movements with murder in his eyes.

Leaving Lucius, Edward hurried through the fighting crowd to protect Oswald, who was completely vulnerable as the latter bent over Jerome, placing the dying man's sword back in his hands.

"Thank you, lord," Jerome wheezed, clutching the sword's handle to his chest as he died.

"You fought bravely, my friend," Oswald said, closing Jerome's eyes with his hand. "We will see you again in Valhalla."

The Saxon king raised his sword over Oswald, ready to behead him --

Every cruelty his father had ever perpetrated against him came roaring back in Edward's mind as he watched his father prepare to commit his most malicious act of all -- killing the man Edward loved in cold blood. Everything seemed to move slower as Edward moved faster than he'd ever thought possible, all the while his father's deadly blade hurtled towards the back of Oswald's neck --

Only to crash against Edward's own sword. Edward didn't hesitate, didn't even wait for the satisfaction of staring into his father's eyes to see the fear bloom there.

He just easily, almost lazily, flicked his sword, knocking his father's blade out of his hand. Then with a deft, precise horizontal slice of his sword, Edward cut off his father's head and watched dispassionately as the body fell.

Everything went still and silent as Oswald looked up in astonishment at a panting, blood-spattered Edward. He stood up, glancing down at the Saxon king's headless corpse, then back up to Edward.

"You saved me," he stated. "Me, a Pagan Dane, your kidnapper. Why?"

"I had to," Edward said simply. "I love you, you see."

Everyone, Dane and Saxon alike, seemed to hold their breath.

Then Oswald snaked his arm up to cup the back of Edward's head and tilted his pretty face up to the taller man in unspoken invitation.

Edward then swept his arms around the other's thick waist, and locked his lips against Oswald's.

He heard Victor the Hairless whoop his approval: "Fucking _finally_!"

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the show The Last Kingdom. Particularly by that scene where Uhtred runs down and kills a man named Oswald, earning himself the title of 'the Godless.'


End file.
